


the shadows not so cold

by queerwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Presentation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:59:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwatson/pseuds/queerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock loves Jane and loves her and loves her. Belatedly (but not too late), she realizes she is loved in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shadows not so cold

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbetaed but basically i just needed a tiny little heart-shaped lesbian bandaid for my heart because every time a holmes loves a watson and they are not loved back, my heart gets another crack in it. so um. take it. i guess.

At some point, Sherlock lost count of the nights she stared up at her ceiling, surrounded by cold sheets and her own sadness. Before Jane, she was alone, but was not aware enough of loneliness to feel it aching every night. Now that she had put her arms around someone and acknowledged how nice it could be (a hug from Jane, post near death experience, number she’s lost track, lasted 12.9 seconds, Jane smelled like antiseptic and cedar and tea and detergent and perfume and felt like home) she felt like there was an empty space between her arms late at night that the shadows didn’t fill anymore - if they ever had.

Jane’s room was upstairs - not far at all. Still, it felt like miles on nights when she came home from a date smiling, and Sherlock could only think of the person who might finally take her away.

Always, though, days happened where nothing much happened at all. Jane would sit down on the couch next to Sherlock, would turn on the telly and sip her tea, and just lean a hint of her weight into Sherlock’s shoulder - just their arms pressed together, and it was enough.

Running together, chasing, panting, laughing, compliments over crime scenes - those were even better. Those were the times Sherlock forgot the risk, forgot the probability, and her lungs were full of air, her heart full of Jane.

Somehow, Sherlock (in spite of a brief respite she thought would ruin everything but does not) survives all of these things much longer than she ever thought she would.

She and Jane have known each other for years, and still Jane is right by her side. Stretching the rubber band, letting her try to slip away, it no longer seems the right thing to do. Jane is there because she wants to be - not out of obligation or because she hasn’t found a better option, and it has taken Sherlock far too long to realize this. The answer is to somehow tell Jane there is always a place at her side.

The attempts begin subtly - leaving up Sussex real estate searches on Jane’s laptop.

Unfortunately this makes things worse, worse, so much worse. Something in Jane is wrong for days and she asks Sherlock tightly about why she’d move without telling her, and Sherlock can only say that no place but London is right for the work.

Soon it is settled again.

The other attempts - the beekeeping searches, the books on retirement, they all go unnoticed.

Finally, on a close together couch day, only words will suffice.

“You’ve never married,” she says one day.

Jane hums, and says nothing.

“I’ve always thought I would get a cottage in Sussex when I grew old. I thought I might keep bees.” Jane goes stiff. “Did you ever plan?”

There is a small shrug. Now that she knows, Sherlock can feel the defeat in it. It is so wrong - but she can correct it soon. “Dunno. Guess the plan was marriage. Might still work out.”

“It would be terribly boring there by myself. If you aren’t planning to be otherwise occupied.”

Jane turns her head, slightly, and her smile is like the warmth of the sun. “No. I don’t think I will be. Think it’ll fit both of us grumpy old women?”

“Certainly.”

Sherlock goes back to typing at her laptop, but Jane closes it and presses closer instead. This is unprecedented, unexpected, and fully Jane. Blinking at her, Sherlock tilts her head, and Jane just leans up, kisses at the corner of her mouth, and snuggles in against her.

There is no more empty space between Sherlock’s arms, there is no more staring at the ceiling alone, there are no more cold sheets. There is only Jane, and days where nothing happens, and crime solving.


End file.
